


Say "Yes"

by IwriteDreams



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Adorable Connor, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Connor Deserves Happiness, Daydreaming, Drinking, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hank Anderson Deserves Happiness, Kissing, Lovesick, M/M, Marriage Proposal, SUMO IS A BABIE, but still stupid, but they're already dating, daydream, hankcon - Freeform, lovesick Connor, postgame, romantic, somebody please smooch my robot son
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 06:19:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18888901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IwriteDreams/pseuds/IwriteDreams
Summary: Maybe it’s Connor making a mistake, or Hank not communicating something important, but there’s more here than being a little withdrawn.Connor isn’t asking for a candlelit dinner, he just wants Hank to kiss him. In the kitchen maybe. Spin him around, and press their lips together. Tip up Connor’s chin with his fingers to kiss him, pull him in by the shoulders to kiss him. Getting close to his face in bed at night to kiss him. Cradling, and turning him around in his arms to kiss him. Standing in public and kissing him. Grabbing Connor’s scarf to pull him into a kiss. Hank could kiss Connor while he was still laughing, vibrations still worming their way out.It didn’t matter how romantic it was or was not. It was something Connor craved but didn’t know how to remedy.





	Say "Yes"

If Hank had to guess, it was probably the principle of the matter more than anything. Most things That involved Conner were. Principles or novelties, something to prove a point.

 

There must be something about changing from a soulless machine into something with feeling, and heart and soul, or maybe Connor was originally programmed to be so, but Conner never fails to surprise Hank with all the things that guy will do just to prove a point. It’s always symbolic, it’s always out of spite. The longer Hank knows Conner, the funnier he gets. He really is… human. 

 

Connor sometimes tugs at his clothes to get his attention during investigations, he pouts, and he grumbles, and as soon as Hank sees that LED go red he knows something is wrong. 

 

The LED is soothing to have in bed at night, and on occasion, it is a nice indication of what Connor is thinking, to aid Hank’s lack of communication and social skills. Still, Connor wanted to keep that LED, not for Hank, but himself. 

 

As far as Hank knew, Connor was the only Android after the revolution that kept that’s little light in his head, blue, yellow, yellow, blue, yellow red it would never stop blinking. Hank had asked about it in the following days after Cyberlife had been destroyed for good, and Connor simply responded with a smooth “I suppose I don’t see the point in removing it.”   
  


Still, Hank doesn’t miss the looks clients give them. In the office, in the streets, in the middle of a homicide investigation. Sure, human and android companions are fine, and even romance is beginning to find a real place in the world, but that’s because you couldn’t usually tell the difference. 

 

There was no LED giving away somebody’s composition of plastic and metal, or of flesh and blood. 

 

And then there was Connor. 

 

It just didn’t make a lot of logical sense to Hank. People stared at them on the streets. People assumed Hank was an android sometimes, some people offered to pop it out, as if they couldn’t do it themselves. But Conor politely refused. He wanted to keep that little light. He held onto it, hard and fast. 

 

It bothered Hank that he did and that he wouldn’t scrap it for all the trouble and annoyance it caused them. 

 

It’s a decently warm day outside when Hank gets the courage to ask again. Connor’s throwing a frisbee for Sumo, back and forth, back and forth. It’s gone on for maybe fifteen minutes. As if Connor couldn’t get more favorable. Connor adored Sumo, and Hank just sat on the bench next to Connor, as Connor kept throwing and throwing and throwing. Sumo looked ecstatic. 

 

Still, there were a few other people that passed them on the trail there and squinted at Connors LED. they didn’t say anything, and so Connor and Hank had continued on their merry way. They probably assumed that Hank might still be treating Connor as a slave, which couldn’t be further from the truth. 

 

“Hey. Connor.”

 

“Yes, Hank?” Connor’s eyes turn to him, but his throw of the frisbee is still perfect. 

 

“Why don’t you take out your LED?”

 

“I thought I already told you. I don’t see what difference it would make.”

 

“I know… and I personally don’t mind you having it in, but other people really get freaked out by it.”   
  


“And why is that my problem?” Connor asked, and it’s still off-putting to Hank sometimes that all of his questions always sound genuine and soft. Hank is fairly sure that his sarcasm programs were limited to “dry and almost uncanny” with no other option.

 

“I think it makes them uncomfortable,” Hank said, trying to put the feeling into words. “It makes them… think about it? I don’t know- but you see how they look at us.”

 

“Again, why does that matter to me?”

 

Hank huffed. “I think they assume that… well, they think I’m an android, or that you’re still… like, enslaved? All the other Androids took them out, and you can’t tell them apart. Why don’t you.”

 

“Because I am an android,” Connor said. “If I took out my LED nobody would notice I was an android. It almost feels like lying.”

 

“But androids are the same as humans. People wouldn’t mind! Or at least, shouldn’t mind.”

 

“It’s a part of me,” Connor said. “I did some very good things and some very bad things when this LED almost dictated how people treated me. Getting rid of it now would be a waste.”   
  


“So… it’s for sentimental value?”   
  


Connor frowned and glances over to see Sumo snag the frisbee perfectly before he began trotting back to Connor. “Not exactly…”   
  


“I don’t follow, Con, what’s stopping you from taking it out if it causes us problems?”

 

Connor glances over at him, face steady.

 

“Is it a problem for you?”

 

There’s something cold and flat about Connor’s voice. Connors eyes locked into Hank’s, and Hank understands what that might sound like.

 

And that it might be not that far an assumption. 

 

“Connor. I’ve… come to terms with dating an android.”

 

Connor is holding onto his words and looks mildly unimpressed. “Come to terms.”   
  


“Well! Not in the bad way- Connor you… I don’t know how to say it… Forget it.”

 

Sumo dropped the plastic frisbee at Connor’s feet, but he just looks on. “No Hank, finish the thought.”

 

“Connor, you know that I don’t mean it like that- words are just-”

 

“I know Hank,” Connor said firmly. “I want you to try though. Does my LED bother you?”   
  


“No! No, no Connor, that’s not it.” Hank said, and suddenly he feels his insides becoming sticky in nervousness. 

 

“Are you sure, Hank? Your heart rate and perspiration palms seem to indicate otherwise.”

 

“No! Connor, That’s not it, you being an android is  _ fine. _ ”

 

“It doesn’t seem like it,” Connor said, in a soft voice of fact. “Why does it bother you? Would you rather I pretend to be human?”   
  


“No! Connor, you’re fine I just…” Hank drew in a deep breath, and Sumo, looking up at Connor from the grass, settled into a seated position and whined, understanding that whatever was happening wasn’t good. 

 

Hank’s resolve crumbled, and instinctually his palm found the side of his hip were his gun holster usually was.    
  
“Hank. Stop reaching for a gun that isn’t there. You will not hurt yourself when I’m around, nor will you think about it.”

 

“What do you want to hear,  Connor? Huh? What are you diggin’ for?”

 

“I just want to hear the truth, Hank. Why does the state of my body bother you so much?”

 

Hank growled at the dirt beneath him. He wasn’t communicating this very well at all. 

 

“Connor. I really…” Hank can’t bring himself to say it. “I care about you a lot, it’s just a big change for me..”   
  


Hank can feel the weight of Connors gaze pressing into him, pressing deeper and deeper in for an answer. 

 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Hank. Why is change such a big deal?”

  
Hank huffed. “I’m human, Connor. I can’t calibrate my systems in an instant. I’m not perfect like you are. I’m an old asshole, and I’m doing my best.”

 

“Why would any of this have to…”

 

“I’m doing my best, Connor.” And there’s force in his voice. “Do you believe that?”

 

Connor drew a pensive grimace. “I’m not sure if you believe it, Hank. But if it helps you, then yes.”

 

Hank deflates in his seat, and Connor lamely throws the frisbee. Sumo doesn’t run as fast.    
  
Hank wishes that he could forgive all androids, and take it all out of his mind. WIshed he could just treat Connor like a normal person, but Hank is a human. Calibrating change, and living with next to that fear. To that trauma. 

 

Hank isn’t perfect, but he’s trying his best.

 

* * *

 

Connor isn’t sure if this mission has been as secretive as hopes it was. 

 

It started with two tablespoons of scotch whiskey down the drain, two tablespoons of water to take their place. 

 

Connor uses heat to reseal the bottle of whiskey and slide it back into place, looking unopened. 

 

After a week of two tablespoons, every new bottle to enter the house Connor counts out four tablespoons of alcohol out, four tablespoons of water in. 

 

Hank might’ve noticed his whiskey tasting a little weaker, but he never said anything, and even with weaker booze was obliging with Connors hard and fast “only 2 glasses a night.” Rule. 

 

Hank hasn’t drunkenly done something stupid in weeks, and every night seems happier with his whiskey, but not drunk on it. Seeing the progress gives Connor satisfaction. He is making a positive change 

 

A month into his covert operation to delude Hanks alcohol, he bumps up the “Connor Alteration Formula” to minus six tablespoons, plus five tablespoons.

 

It makes the bottle a tablespoon short of liquid, but Hank isn’t tuned enough to ever notice, and Connor found that six tablespoons might be noticeable, in terms of water to alcohol ratio.

 

Connor has been carefully documenting the benefits of it all, for the day when Connor pushes the envelope of his formula too far, and Hank finds out. Hank smiles 11% more throughout the day, and 34% more in the evenings compared to before, with a 1.3% increase to both statistics for every tablespoon of water he adds, which was beginning to level out. 

 

Connor is proud of the progress Hank has made, however, there are a few things that Connor thought this operation would solve, but hasn’t. And Connor isn't sure where to start with fixing those problems.

 

Technically, they are dating. They’ve been on a date before, and Connor gets in his hugs and kisses often enough, but Hank has only once referred to him as a boyfriend. And they’ve never been on a second date.

 

Based on Hank’s heart rate, it's not a matter of not wanting it, but a matter of not asking for it. Or only wanting it in very specific ways. That wouldn’t be so bad on its own. They already live together and work together, and being detectives both are swamped with work. But then there’s the fact that Hank has never kissed him once.

 

Connor always initiates. And sure, Hank agrees to it, nodding, and allowing it to happen, but Hank has never once started it. 

 

Connor watches as six tablespoons curls down the drain, and Connor counts out five tablespoons of water to help his cause. 

 

The most Hank ever does is wrap his arms around Connor at night, almost swallowing him whole. It might be Connor’s favorite feeling in the world. On rare occasions, Hank might throw a heavy arm across his shoulders and draws him in close when they’re on the couch. But Connor is the only one who ever leans in.

 

Connor makes nice dinners at home, because Hank is tired and will not want to leave the house, and Connor is always gently pawing for just a little more attention. Attention that he's not getting. The little bits of attention he craves more than anything. All he needs is Hank to kiss him. Just a little kiss will do. Scruffy beard and big hands. Connor doesn’t think he’s asking for too much. He adores Hank. Every last thing about him. He just wants to feel wanted. 

 

Hell, needed.

 

He needs to know that Hank loves him. Needs to know that Hank is happier with him. Needs to know that Hank cares.

 

It’s an idea that’s been chewing away at him, piece by piece. 

 

It’s gotten to a point that Connor is almost positive that this is not about Hank getting used to living with somebody again. It’s about something being wrong. Maybe it’s Connor making a mistake, or Hank not communicating something important, but there’s more here than being a little withdrawn. Connor isn’t asking for a candlelit dinner, he just wants Hank to kiss him some time, in the kitchen maybe. Spin him around, and press their lips together. Tip up Connor’s chin with his fingers to kiss him, pull him in by the shoulders to kiss him. Getting close to his face in bed at night to kiss him. Cradling, and turning him around in his arms to kiss him. Standing in public and kissing him. Grabbing Connor’s scarf to pull him into a kiss. Hank could kiss Connor while he was still laughing, vibrations still worming their way out. Hank might kiss him at a crime scene and refuse to kiss him after analyzing blood. It didn’t matter how romantic it was or was not. It was something Connor craved but didn’t know how to remedy. He thought about it every day. Hank pulling him into a kiss, Hank kissing him after shaving. Hank kissing him when they got their morning coffee. Hank kissing him before a particularly disturbing mission as a reminder of the happy things. Hank kissing him in the park they liked to visit because it had the happy little daffodils that Connor secretly knew were Hank’s favorite, simply because of their funny little trumpet shape. 

 

Yet something was wrong, and Connor, tucking the revised alcohol solution back into place on the shelves, saw it. 

 

Hank’s gun was lying on the table. Well, his secondary one. Hank always took the heavier gun with him to overtime work, which was where he still was. Connor took the opportunity to continue to improve Hank’s health while he was away looking at dead bodies or whatever. 

 

Connor knew, however, that Hank’s other gun had no reason to be on the dinner table. 

 

Connor certainly didn’t place it there, and Hank had no need to move it from its usual resting place. Connor approached it, and picked it up, turning it over in his hands. It’s was certainly Hank’s gun, same caliber, same scratch marks on the side from a knife scuffle. Connor looked into the chamber and found a single bullet in there.

 

Connor froze and immediately spun the gun around to look at the trigger, finding what he feared. A fresh fingerprint.

 

Hank’s fresh fingerprint.

 

* * *

 

 

Hank can’t even put his exhaustion into words. Everything is sore or numb. Standing outside looking at a dead guy, corpse run over by a truck, trying to figure out if he died of a car accident, natural causes or other was fucking infuriating. Hank lost it, even more, when the chemical samples came back, and they found out he was high on red ice when he decided to walk into the middle of the damn road to be hit. 

 

Being a detective was fucking boring and maddening sometimes. To waste hours he could’ve spent at home with Connor looking at an ugly ass corpse of a man who got killed in a boring way that was entirely his damn fault.

 

Finally, he was home. He could hear Sumo barking at him when he pulled up, but all the light in the house were off. It was late, Connor might’ve already gone to bed. So Hank kicks off his boots at the door, and opens the door, and flicks on the light as he takes off his detective jacket.

 

...Only to see Connor, sitting in the armchair, in the dark, waiting for him, looking unimpressed.

 

Hank jumped. “Jeez Connor! You scared me! why were you sitting in the dark?”

 

“Waiting for you.” Connor says evenly, and his voice sounds scary. “How was work?”

 

“Eh… you know. Just peachy. High guy walked in the middle of the fucking road and got hit.” Hank tried to shrug off Connor’s intense stare. 

 

“Interesting.”

 

“No, not really. Would’ve been better if you were there.”

 

“You know, Hank. I think we need to talk.”

 

Well shit.

 

“Ha…. ha, yeah? ‘Bout what ‘Con?”

 

Hank isn't sure what he's expecting. He's expecting many things. Connor telling Hank that he isn’t good enough, or maybe he’s about to continue the conversation about the LED. Maybe Connor found a younger, cuter boy. It wouldn’t be hard.

 

Instead, Connor pulls out Hank’s other handgun.

 

And 

 

Hank’s

 

heart

 

plummets. 

 

“Care to explain this lieutenant?”

 

Hank wants to tell Connor to not call him that but Hank can’t seem to find his voice. Or a good excuse. He just stares that gun, and understand that Connor must be worried. 

 

“Shit, Connor,” Hank mumbled. “Do you need me to fuckin explain’ it? You always find everything. ‘Cocky bastard.”

 

Connor stands up, and Hank can't find the strength to move his heavy feet. 

 

“The fingerprint shows that you made the roulette attempt four hours ago. When I was out running errands before you went out for work.” There is a tempered calmness in Connor’s voice that even Hank can tell is artificial.

 

“Well don’t you just know fuckin’ everything,” Hank growled. “Look, I can’t tell you why I did it. I wanted to. So I did.”

 

“That doesn't explain anything. Was there a trigger for it?”

 

“No idea.”

 

“Hank, what’s wrong?” Connor sounds serious. “I could’ve gotten how three and a half hours ago to your dead body! That’s not okay! And certainly not something I’m going to let happen.”

 

“I’m telling you I don’t know, Connor!” Hank barked, and Sumo jumped to his feet, concerned. 

 

Connor blinked at him, seemingly scared, and Hank deflated.

 

“Look. I’m sorry Connor.  I don’t know why and I just want to go to bed.”

 

“I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable,” Connor said. “I was just incredibly alarmed, and right to be!”

 

“First time since you showed up,” Hank assured him, but judging by Connor’s expression, that really didn’t make it any better. “Look. I’m sorry, I know that isn’t much better, but it's already over.”

 

Connor sat down and crosses his arms. It was a stance he took when nervous Hank had noticed. “I’m just upset,” Connor said. “I don’t mean to… blame you, but this is serious. You could be dead right now. Did that possibility occur to you at all? Or was it habitual?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

Connor’s eyes are searching him for any semblance of a lie, but Hank isn’t bluffing. “Then why did you do it?”

 

“Don’t know.”

 

“I thought I was helping you!”

 

“You are.”

 

“But not enough.”

 

“You don’t get to blame yourself for this.” He warned.

 

“If I communicated better, and reminded you that you are valued-“

 

“That’s enough,” Hank said, and it was firm. “I’m taking a shower and going to bed. I will not talk about this right now.”

 

“Hank I do not want you going to bed upset with me!”

 

“I’m- Jesus, Connor, I’m not mad at you!” Hank said, and all of this was only serving to make him feel worse. Guilty. He wished that bullet had struck him, after all. “I’m just tired.”

 

Before Connor could even formulate some all-knowing smartass response, Hank moved right past him.

 

Connor’s dejected, fearful eyes followed him, but Hank could only feel so guilty before it all kind of became numb. 

 

Connor just stared at the bathroom door as it slammed, and put his head in his hands.

  
  


* * *

 

 

Hank was already asleep by the time Connor crawled into bed. He spent a while trying to devise a plan or some semblance of one. Connor really wants to make Hank breakfast in bed the next morning, maybe even call him in late for work, but unfortunately this problem Hank seems to be having will only be negatively affected when Connor spends the effort to try to fix it. 

 

It’s a problem he’s already run into with Hank before. Hank believing that Connor deserved better, and any attempt Connor made to make Hank happy only proved that to Hank more. He wasn’t looking to make this situation anymore complicated. 

 

There wasn’t much Connor could do to make Hank happy that he didn’t usually do. So instead of trying to add in any third party factors, Connor eventually just got into bed and grabbed a few fistfuls of Hank’s shirt. 

 

Connor let his forehead droop forward to rest between Hank’s, and he held tight onto the shirt’s back. He breathes deeply and closes his eyes. Hank is warm. Maybe Hank will feel better in the morning. 

 

* * *

 

 

Waking up that morning did feel better. 

 

Connor curled up right behind Hank, he can feel him nuzzling into his back. Connor begins to reboot once Hank’s heart rate picks up. He’s set it to do so, so they always wake up together.

 

Hank hopes that the emotions have worn off a little.

 

“Good morning,” Connor mumbles somewhere behind him, clutching his shirt a little tighter. 

 

Hank, hoping to hold this conversation with Connor even closer, turn over, and gathers Connor in his arms. Connor’s head pressed into his chest, Hank staring at the wall past him. They can’t see each other's faces.

 

Connor’s shy arms circle him, and Hank squeezes just a little bit. Hank doesn’t want to think about this too much. How unfair it is that he get Connor, and Connor got… him.

 

He just wants to think about how small Connor feels in his arms. 

 

“I'm sorry.” Is all that Hank can scrounge up.

 

“It’s alright,” Connor told him. “I’m just scared to lose you.”

 

“I don’t understand why.”

 

“And I don’t understand how you cannot see how truly dazzling you are.”

 

Hank snorted. “Dazzling?”

 

“Would beautiful be better?”

 

“No.”

 

“Lovely? Alluring?”

 

“Christ, Connor,”

 

“Maybe… handsome?” And Hank can hear the cocky smirk in his voice.

 

“It’s too early for this.”

 

“Too early for what, Hank? Pursuing the truth? I thought you were all about that. Oh! Magnetic!”

 

“Connor…” Hank jokingly warned. “Stealing your identity would be a crime.”

 

Connor laughed, pushing at his chest lightly. “You can’t worm your way out of compliments anymore. I know how you work.”

 

“Whatever.”

 

Connor falls silent but seems to radiate joy just being there, held by Hank. At least Hank’s doing one thing right.

 

“We should get ready for work.” Hank points out.

 

“Or… I could call in late?” Connor asks. 

 

“You’re so bad.”

 

“I know! I just. I don’t want either of us to be worried or angry. Just thirty minutes?”

 

“I won’t stop you.”

 

Connor calls in, right from his arms, and Hank smiles as he hears Connor speak over the line. “Running late. Many apologies on my behalf. Traffic jam on the interstate. See you then.”

 

They settle in, and Hank closes his eyes. Connor loosely holding him back, and it is nice. 

 

“I love you,” Connor says. 

 

“Thanks,” Hank says.

 

* * *

 

It had been a very bloody day. 

 

Hank stumbled into the house, scowling. Connor knew he’d never admit it, but seeing people’s insides on the outsides still really got to him sometimes. They’d just finished investigating a man who’d died in a warehouse’s hydraulic press. His ribs had been pressed outsides his corpse, and soft entrails oozed out of raw, jelly skin in swampy patches. 

 

Still, Connor could feel Hank’s tension dissipate once Sumo was jumping on him, yipping quietly and happily. Hank, as he always does, kneels before Sumo, letting SUmo lick at his beard joyously as Hank roughly scratches his chin, and the softest spots just behind his ears. 

 

Hank excuses himself to go shower again, the smell of blood still clinging to him, and Connor orders Chinese food for both of them. It’s probably what Hank wanted after such a hard day. 

 

By the time the food arrived, Hank was out of the shower, and they both sat at the dinner table, which had been seeing more use as of late, and Hank ate quietly. 

 

It wasn’t hard to see why, there was still plenty of tension to be feeling, but Connor thought it was better at least. 

 

“Connor,” Hank said finally. “I wanted to thank you. For uh, you know. Yesterday.”

 

“Of course Hank. Anything I can ever do, let me know.”   
  


“More than that… I wanted to let you know that I l-”

 

Connor stopped. 

 

“I really care about you and… things.”

 

“Hank, there appears to be something else you’re trying to say.” 

 

Hank’s brow furrowed. “Connor, I really l- like you. And I… shit, saying it is hard.”

 

“Saying what?” Connor asked, feigning cluelessness.

 

“You know what! It’s… hard to say. I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s okay Hank,” Connor said. “I love you too.”   
  


“You deserve to hear the words.”   
  


“I have many years to hear them, Hank. There is no rush.”

 

“Connor I should be able to-”

 

Connor looks him dead in the eye. “I know what you mean, Hank. And it is very much appreciated.”

 

* * *

 

 

Hank’s heart rate is suspended at a normal level and he didn’t drink at all that night by the time he collapses into bed. He’s tucked in for the night an hour and 17 minutes earlier than usual and is still mostly awake. So Connor goes to Hank’s garage and grabs a screwdriver because he won’t catch Hank in a better mood than this. He hopes Hank likes this plan as much as he does.

 

The moon filled night sky outside is nice, and kind. Connor observes from a window, turning the screwdriver over in his hands for a moment. He returns to the bedroom, trying to fill his thoughts with stars. 

 

“Hank?” Connor asks. The nights are already turned out, but Connor can make out a lump in the bed where Hank is. 

 

“Mm?”

 

“Mind if I join you?”

 

“No, Connor, you have to sleep on the floor tonight,” Hank grumbled sarcastically. “Come ’ere”

 

Connor approaches his side of the bed, and sits, but doesn’t lay down, before turning on dim lights in the room. 

  
“Jeeze! Connor, give a guy some warning!” Hank mumbles, squeezing his eyes shut as they adjust. “What’s up?”

 

“There’s something I needed to ask of you,” Connor says, formally. “Something very important.”

 

“Is this about… last night?”   
  


“Kind of. I think this is much happier though.”

 

Hank looks curious. Sweet. “Oh, yeah? What’s that then?”   
  


“I want you to remove my LED.”   
  


Everything      seems      to    stop.

 

Hank stares at him, and Connor just blinks. He was expecting a strong reaction to such a proposal. 

 

Hank just stares. And keeps staring. And keeps staring. 

 

Before, finally, Hank comes up with a word. 

 

“No.”

 

It’s barely a whisper. Followed by a “No, Connor, I couldn’t do that.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“It’s… It’s a part of you. Don’t throw it away because of me. Keep it, Connor, it makes you happy.”   
  


“I asked you to remove it. Not get rid of it.” Connor said. “I’m not doing this for you, Hank, I promise.”

 

“Then why?”

 

“I have a plan.”

 

“A plan?”   
  


“If you won’t do it, I’ll do it myself,” Connor tells him. “But somehow I think you taking it out is nice.”   
  


Hank looks worried. “Connor, are you sure about this?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And it’s not because of me, right?”

 

“No Hank, this is my own choice,” Connor assures him, handing the screwdriver over to Hank, hilt first.

 

Hank reluctantly takes it, and carefully lines up the flathead right under the bottom lip of his LED.

 

“Are you really sure?”   
  


“Yes, Hank. Really. I want you to do this.”

 

Hank sucked in air through his teeth. “Okay.”

 

Hank draws himself up, clearly nervous, before there’s a tight pressure against Connor’s temple and then  _ SNAP! _

 

Connor’s hand dart out to catch the LED part as it falls, and he stares at it, still glowing in the palm of his hand as his temple patches skin over itself. 

 

Hank still looks scared, like he’s just failed a test. Connor inspects his own LED closer. 

 

“Connor, why did you ask me to do that?”

 

Connor just smiles, and digs his fingers into the chunk of plastic that came off with the light, and separated them. All he’s left with now is a flimsy glowing ring. Connor takes it between his fingers and bends it with ease. It’s quite malleable, and it’s interesting seeing his own thoughts connecting to the LED in person like this. 

 

“Hank? Can I see your hand?”   
  


“My what?”

 

“Your hand.”   
  
Hank looks confused but holds a palm up to him. “Oh...kay?”

 

Connor looks Hank in the eyes and slides the LED band around his finger. 

 

“Connor?”

 

“I thought it would be nice. Sometimes I see you reach for a wedding ring that isn’t there, so I thought you might like a replacement. This way it might help you adjust, and might help others from ostracising us. What do you think?”

 

Hank looks at the ring closely, with wide eyes. “I…”

 

“Yes?”   
  


“Are you proposing to me?”

 

Connor smiles when Hank looks at him, but he’s nervous. 

 

“Maybe.”

 

Hank gapes. 

 

Stares at this little blinking ring, and this wonderful boy. 

 

“So?”

 

Hank can barely hear himself, god, his face if on FIRE.

 

“I… Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please motivate me to get off my ass, put down my pokemon games, and do what makes me truly happy, write, by leaving a comment! 
> 
> I hope somebody enjoyed this. Have a swell day!


End file.
